


blistering feet

by demistories



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Competitive Dance - Freeform, Depression, Developing Relationship, F/F, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicide Attempt, check individual chapters for specific warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demistories/pseuds/demistories
Summary: Connor and Zoe Murphy are stars of their competitive dance studio.Evan Hansen is new to the studio has never competed before.High school is never easy. Twenty plus hours in the dance studio a week doesn't make it less stressful. If anything, it makes it worse: everything hurts, glitter is everywhere, and stage makeup is hell to get off after long competition weekends. Throw in some mental illness, blend it together, and down it before rehearsal starts.





	1. improvisation

**Author's Note:**

> 'hey tea are you ever going to write something thats not a dance au' no. 
> 
> welcome! i dont know why im posting this OR why i started it!!! i did talk about it on my deh blog but apparently we somehow ended up here so.....yeah. i only have 2 chapters written and i just started college and i have no outline. so. 
> 
> fingers crossed (please dont expect a lot from me)
> 
> shoutout to all my friends for encouraging this. thank you for being bad influences. 
> 
> also please!!! read chapter notes!!!! ill be putting any sort of specific trigger warnings HERE in the beginning notes. let me know if i ever need more. in the END NOTES ill be putting videos and links to any dance terms/references that i use in the chapter. let do this 
> 
> **tw:** references to self harm

Connor clenches his fists, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. He’s shaking, his brain is screaming a million things at him, and he feels like he’s drowning in his thoughts. 

He can hear his mother’s voice in his head telling him about breathing exercises. 

Fuck breathing exercises. 

Before he does something he regrets — even though summer is coming to a close, it’s still too warm to suffer the fate of long sleeves — Connor throws his hair up into a ponytail. He changes out of his jeans and into old sweats, his jeans are old and soft but not stretchy enough, and hauls his bag onto his shoulder. He grabs his phone as he passes it on his desk and resists the urge to slam his bedroom door behind him as he leaves. 

He’s already going to get shit from Larry, he doesn’t need more. 

Connor huffs out a breath before knocking on Zoe’s door. She opens the door quickly, a questioning eyebrow raised. She gives him a once over before closing the door again. Connor crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently as he waits. He finds himself tapping out an old rhythm that his body has somehow remembered despite the years and leans into the beat. 

A few minutes later, Zoe leaves her bedroom. She has a bag on each arm and is wearing sweats and a loose top. “I’m choosing the music,” she says, twisting her hair up into a messy bun and kicking the door shut with her foot. 

* * *

Connor Murphy started dancing when he was five years old. 

His mother signed him up for a tap class when Zoe refused to go on her own. Connor hadn’t wanted to go, but he was the older sibling, he was supposed to be the example, he was supposed to be there for his sister. So despite all his complaining and all of Zoe’s tears, Cynthia packed them into the car and drove them to the dance studio. 

Connor was immediately put off by the amount of pink— pink was Zoe’s color, she had a monopoly over it. Zoe hated all the people, all the parents that were much bigger than her and all the other dancers who she had never met. She hid behind Connor and held onto the sleeve of his hoodie. 

Connor decided he hated dance. 

But he didn’t mind the way the shoes clicked on the floor. 

They stood in line and the teacher talked and Connor stopped listening. But then the teacher turned on the music and showed them how to hit the floor with the toe of their shoe just right. The studio filled with the sounds of stomping. 

Connor decided he liked dance.

* * *

 

Connor grits his teeth as Zoe plugs the aux cord into her phone. She hums to herself as she scrolls through her music, pursing her lips before settling on a playlist. 

Connor focuses on the road, even though he knows this route well enough by now that he could probably drive it in his sleep. Not that Zoe would let him. 

Zoe leans forward and turns up the music, guitar notes floating through the speakers. Surprisingly, it’s not a song that Connor recognizes. Probably some indie band that Zoe found and has decided to obsess over for a few weeks. 

He doesn’t know how many songs have passed when he pulls into the parking lot. 

“You’re lucky Heather likes us,” Zoe says as she hops out of the car. 

Connor rolls his eyes and turns off the engine. He grips the steering wheel one last time before grabbing his bag from the back. 

Melinda looks up from where she’s working behind the desk when Zoe pulls open the door of the dance studio. Melinda smiles and asks Zoe how she’s doing, her eyes flicking over the Connor briefly. Connor can practically feel the worry dripping off of Melinda and elects to ignore it. Whatever. 

“Is Studio C open?” he asks, kicking off his shoes. 

“Always is!” Melinda says cheerfully. He doesn’t care enough right now to decide if the tone is forced. 

Zoe thanks Melinda as Connor climbs the steps to the storage room for the competitive dancers. He dumps his shoes and sweatshirt in his usual cubby and glances to his bag for a moment before deciding just to take all of it. He passes Zoe as he leaves the room and she holds out a water bottle to him. He takes it without a word. 

Studio C is cold like it alway is. The heating in this particular studio isn’t very good, especially since it’s in the older part of the building. Him and Zoe moved to this studio when he was eight and his mother wanted them to start taking dance more seriously. When they were ten, the studio expanded into the building next to it for more studio space. Now, this studio in particular, with its dented wood floors and small size, is usually left open for anyone wanting practice space. 

Two years ago, Connor claimed it as his own. 

He plugs his phone into the speaker system and turns the music up as loud as he can without getting yelled at by Heather to lower the volume or get out. He can feel the beat in his bones as he sits on the floor and laces up his tap shoes, easy and familiar. 

He stands and closes his eyes, facing the mirror but not wanting to see himself. 

That’s the worst part about dance studios. There are so many mirrors. All of your mistakes, everything you are that you don’t want to be, projected for what seems like the entire world to see. 

Connor does a few cramp rolls. His mind starts to calm as he soaks in the music. 

He’s really supposed to warm up. It’s important to do, even for tap. He’s supposed to warm up his ankles. 

He’s not really in the mood to be safe. 

The song ends and the intro to another starts up. He always leaves his phone on shuffle when he improvs so it can be a surprise. He recognizes the song after the first few notes, smiling a little to himself. 

Connor counts himself in and he starts with a simple flap ball change. And then he dances. 

—«·»—

Zoe is sitting on a bench outside the studio scrolling on her phone when Connor has finished, his muscles sore and his heart racing. She barely gives him a second glance when he drops his bag on the bench next to her and sits down. 

He leans over to check the time on her screen. Zoe pushes him away. 

“It’s almost three,” she says. “And you smell.” 

Connor rolls his eyes and pulls the hair tie out of his hair. “Do you want to grab something to eat before rehearsal?” 

Zoe is already standing. “God I thought you’d never ask.” Connor follows her into the storage room as she complains about their mother’s cooking. “—which isn’t bad but, we dance twenty three hours a week, we need more carbs than that.” Zoe shoves her bag into one of the cubbies and puts on her shoes. Connor fishes the car keys out of his bag and does the same. 

“McDonald’s?” he asks as they get into the car. The car has already gotten warm since they went into the studio and Connor remembers that he really fucking hates summer and heat. 

Zoe is already reaching for the aux cord. “Depression fries?” 

“Fuck you,” Connor says flatly. He shifts the gear into drive and tries not to speed out of the parking lot. If Heather so much as suspects that he was speeding in the area, he’ll get an earful at rehearsal tonight. 

“I’m not judging,” Zoe says as she chooses a song. “I want chicken nuggets.” 

Maybe fast food isn’t the best idea before rehearsal, but Connor stopped caring about what was healthy a long time ago. He spends hours in the studio without eating or drinking and sleeps less than five hours a night. If his plan was to live a long life, he’d be failing. But luckily that’s not his plan. 

If he spends enough time in the dance studio, the rest of the world stops for a while. Or at least he stops paying attention to the rest of the world for long enough that it’s a little less shitty. 

That’s the problem with school starting up again. Less studio time. More time in a hellhole where no one would care if he died, where half the school thinks he’s about to snap and go on a shooting spree, where all anyone knows him for is throwing a printer in the second grade. 

Yeah. High school definitely is the best four years of his life. 

Connor doesn’t even realize he’s made it to the drive through until Zoe is leaning over him and rolling down his window. He really has to stop doing that when he drives, even if he knows the route well. One of these days he’s going to get into an accident and kill himself (not a bad thing) and Zoe (a bad thing). 

Zoe orders quickly, getting him a drink along with his trademarked depression fries, and then sits back down in her seat and buckles in, motioning him to drive forward. It’s sort of weird how Zoe just goes along with stuff like this without question, but it’s better than being at home and getting yelled at for it.  

They sit in the McDonald’s parking lot for a while and eat because Connor’s fries would get cold in the drive back to the studio and McDonald’s fries have this magical ability to get really fucking gross when they’re cold. Zoe cranks her weird music louder as she eats her chicken nuggets, clicking through emails and updating Connor on studio events. 

Connor takes a sip of her drink before his own, mostly to annoy her, partially to see what she got because he’s already forgotten what she ordered. “Do you think Erin is going to try more party pop jazz?” 

Zoe shudders. “I hope not. That was…”

“Fucking awful?” he asks, and she nods eagerly in agreement. Lauren liked trying new things. Trying a different style of jazz, with a lot more pop music and jumping and neon, had not worked out in her favor. Connor had tried to drop the dance and Zoe had yelled at him. 

“Do you think you’ll get a solo this year?” Zoe asks lightly. 

Connor raises an eyebrow at her. “Do you think  _ you _ will?” 

They stare at each other for a long moment before Zoe snorts and grabs her drink from the cup holder. “Erika would lose her  _ shit _ if they didn’t let you have your solo.” 

Connor smirks. “That’d be something to see. Maybe I should refuse it.” 

Zoe whacks his arm. “ _ Drive _ , asshole. Heather will have your head if we’re late.” 

“What about your head?” He puts down the empty fries container and backs out of the parking space. 

“I’m too pretty for that,” Zoe says haughtily. “Besides, I’m actually good at ballet.” 

“I’ll throw you out of this car,” Connor threatens. 

Zoe just changes the song and blasts the music louder. 


	2. warm ups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan knows his mother means well, but he’s also pretty sure she’s somehow out to kill him.
> 
> Which isn’t true! She’s trying her best and works long hours and pays for all his classes and therapy and medication and he’s just a burden that— that’s a huge expense. Which is why Evan can’t understand why over the summer she brought up moving dance studios to a more expensive one (even if it’s a little closer). He also can’t understand why she wants him to compete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yup i dont know anymore. hope youre having a good week, im suffering and college is horrific
> 
>  **tw:** panic attack. a lot is the same as that first day of school scene through waving through a window, so keep that in mind

Evan knows his mother means well, but he’s also pretty sure she’s somehow out to kill him. 

Which isn’t true! She’s trying her best and works long hours and pays for all his classes and therapy and medication and he’s just a burden that— that’s a huge expense. Which is why Evan can’t understand why over the summer she brought up moving dance studios to a more expensive one (even if it’s a little closer). He also can’t understand why she wants him to  _ compete _ . 

Competition is terrifying. And the idea of it makes him want to throw up. His hands start getting sweaty and his breathing gets shallow and everything gets  _ bad _ . 

His mom had said something about putting himself out there in his last year of high school. Doing things he fears and going outside his comfort zone. 

Evan doesn’t know how to tell her that everything is outside his comfort zone. 

Which is why instead of thinking about the fact that he has his first class at the new studio in two days or writing a letter like Doctor Sherman always wants him to, he’s laying in bed scrolling through some dance forum Jared signed him up for a while back. 

Most of the posts and threads don’t get much of a reaction from him— some people are very open about where they dance and use the forum to discuss classes and teachers and (if bribed correctly) studio secrets, but Evan tries to remain as anonymous as possible. He doesn’t have a name on his profile, his username has no indication of who he is, his icon is the silhouette of a dancer doing an arabesque against a tree, and the most anyone can tell about his location is his timezone. The only one who knows who he is is Jared. 

Jared, who created an account for Evan, which Evan immediately deleted because he couldn’t figure out how to change the username and he could  _ not _ have a username like that. Surprisingly and thankfully, Evan’s online persona is one of the few secrets Jared has managed to keep. 

Evan rolls his eyes when he comes across of Jared’s posts. 

**(5:32 pm) yalikejazz:** FUCK ballet  
**↳ (5:47 pm) checkyourattitude:** Fuck you 

After posting his response, Evan goes back to scrolling. The posts kind of blur together into a mess of advice, complaining, and screaming about song choices that no one can share without studio heads get angry. He’s squinting at a really long rant about fake eyelashes from someone with the username ‘fondueforfrogs’ when he gets a text from Jared. 

**From: here comes that boi** **  
** **To: fake friend** **  
**      i know your username evan fuck you too 

**From: fake friend** **  
** **To: here comes that boi** **  
**       I know you d o    


**From: here comes that boi** **  
** **To: fake friend** **  
**ha ha very funny  
       i had tech today so fuck off 

Evan rolls off his bed. He hasn’t stretched in a few days and being in pain during warm up doesn’t sound like a great way to start at a new studio. If he can minimize the things he has to worry about, that’d be great. 

**From: fake friend** **  
** **To: here comes that boi** **  
** Id rather  be in tech than in a ocmpetition class

Evan is perfectly content spending the rest of his days privately practicing solos in the studio. One recital a year was bad. At least one competition a month during the season is too much. 

**From: here comes that boi** **  
** **To: fake friend** **  
** yeah but youre fucking weir d

Evan rolls his eyes and leans down and touches his toes. He lays the phone on the floor in front of him so he can still see Jared’s messages as he stretches. He turns his feet out into first position and does a slow demi plié, stretching out his back as much as possible. Something in his back pops and with a sigh, Evan stretches a little further. 

**From: here comes that boi** **  
** **To: fake friend** **  
**       comps are great you get to spend an entire weekend wiht me 

Evan ignores Jared’s text until he’s sitting on the floor stretching out his hamstrings. 

**From: fake friend** **  
** **To: here comes that boi** **  
** Yeah that sound s like a lot of fun   
      I sitll blame you and  your moms for thi s

Jared’s moms always go on and on about how great competitive dance has been for Jared. Whenever they talk about it, Jared rolls his eyes and calls them dramatic, but Evan knows better. Jared always seems happier after he’s spent long periods of times with dance friends. A group that Evan is now awkwardly edging in on. 

Him and Jared aren’t  _ actual _ friends, they’re just  _ family _ friends.

**From: here comes that boi** **  
** **To: fake friend** **  
** fuck off im super fun   
      dude i t might suck but youll get over it   
      its really not that bad   
      plus itll make your mom happy

Evan leaves the texts on read and works on his oversplits.

* * *

 

Walking to the studio kind of sucks, but the shorter walk actually makes it worse. Now, Evan can get to the studio faster. And everything can go horribly wrong  _ faster _ . 

When he opens the studio door, he’s welcomed by a waiting room filled with loud elementary schoolers and their parents. 

All classes start today, that includes non competitive classes. 

Evan weaves his way through the yelling children to the front desk. “H-hi I’m um— I’m a competitive da-dancer? And...new so I’m just wondering where I—” He squeezes the strap of his bag and tries to stop himself from rambling. 

The woman at the desk smiles. “Welcome to Elite, then, sweetheart. I’m Alyssa and I’m here most days if you ever need anything. I teach some of the babies.” She gestures to the kids running around the waiting room. “Most of the competition classes are in the extension of the studio.” She leans forward to point toward a set of stairs. “If you go up the stairs, there’s a room of cubbies where all the comp kids leave their things. Then if you go down the hall and to the left, you should see all the competition studios. They’re all labeled and there’s a schedule up in the cubby room that should tell you what studio to go to for what class. If you need any help, all the dancers are very nice and would be happy to show you where to go. Have a good class!” 

Alyssa turns back to her computer and Evan has to take a moment to try and process all that information without freaking out. 

Stairs. He can do stairs. 

There’s no door on the entrance of the storage room. A few people are sitting on the floor, one stretching and the others scrolling on their phones while laughing about something Evan is not privy to. 

He left early because he was anxious about being late, but now he’s anxious about being early. Perfect. 

Evan takes out his ballet flats and puts his bag in a cubby by the door and sits down as far away from the other people in the room as possible. Not that it helps. 

“Are you new?” the girl who’s stretching asks suddenly. 

Evan looks up with a jolt, noticing that she is a lot closer now than she was before. “W-what?” 

“New,” she repeats. “Are you new? I don’t recognize you.” 

“I— yeah, yeah. I’m…new.” Evan ducks his head and hopes the conversation will end. He recognizes her from school — it’d be impossible not to considering she does  _ everything  _ — but it’s not surprising she doesn’t remember him. Evan isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. 

“I’m Alana.” 

“Evan,” he mutters. 

“What happened to your arm?” Alana asks. 

Evan winces. “I uh— I broke it. I was climbing a tree…” 

“Oh really? My grandma broke her hip getting into the bathtub in July.” Evan’s eyes widen. “That was the beginning of the end, the doctors said. Because then she died.” 

Evan stares at her. 

Is he supposed to respond to that? What’s the socially accepted way to react to someone you’ve just met telling you that? 

Alana stands suddenly. “I have to go. Have a good class!” She steps around Evan and is gone. 

Evan stares at the spot she was sitting in for a second before he pulls on his other ballet flat. 

A bag is dropped onto the floor next to him and his heart almost leaps out of his chest. 

“Hey nerd,” Jared says, tossing shoes into a cubby. 

Evan takes a shallow breath. “H-hey.” 

“Can’t believe you made it without getting hit by a car.” 

Evan picks at his cast. “You’re— that’s not helping, Jared.”

“Yeah, yeah I get it.” Jared grabs Evan’s good arm and yanks him to his feet. Jared pats Evan’s cast. “How you doing, acorn?” 

Evan furrows his eyebrows. “Can we, like, not call me that?” 

Jared shrugs. “Think you can survive a few classes?” 

“No.” 

Jared snorts. “Brutal. If you can survive a class with Oana, you can survive anything.” 

Evan thinks otherwise. 

Jared pulls them away from the doorway and further into the storage room to let the other girls in the room out. “Seriously, get over it. We all suffer for our parents.” 

“Ha, yeah but—” 

Evan cuts himself off as someone stalks into the storage room, dumping his bag into a cubby without giving Evan or Jared a second glance. 

Until Jared decides to open his mouth. 

“Hey, Connor. Haven’t seen the hair down in a while and I’m loving the length. Very school shooter chic.” 

Evan wants to die. More than usual. 

Very slowly, Connor turns around. He stares at Jared with scary and almost empty looking eyes and Evan realizes he  _ knows _ this Connor. Because this Connor is Connor Murphy, who’s been in Evan’s grade for years but Evan has avoiding for almost as long because Evan avoids everyone. 

“I was kidding,” Jared says. “It was a joke.” 

Evan can literally feel the floor opening up beneath him. 

“Yeah, no, it was funny. I’m laughing.” Connor leans forward. “Can’t you tell? Am I not laughing hard enough for you, Kleinman?” he hisses. 

Jared laughs awkwardly. “You’re such a freak.” He darts around Connor and skids out the door. 

Oh no. 

Evan coughs. Laughs. Makes…some sort of noise. Because he’s panicking and doesn’t know what to do and his body is freaking out and everything is uncomfortable and awful and he doesn’t know how this day could go so bad so fast. 

Connor’s eyes snap to him. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” 

Evan freezes. “What?” 

“Stop fucking laughing at me!” Connor snaps. 

“I’m not—” 

“You think I’m a freak?!” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“You’re the fucking freak!” Connor shouts. He shoves Evan back toward the wall. “Get the  _ fuck _ to class.” Connor snatches his bag from the cubby and storms out of the room. 

Evan stumbles backward until his back hits the wall. His knees give out and he crumples to the ground and his nails scratch at the plaster of his cast as he tries to figure out how breathing works again and he has class he has class he has class he has— 

“Are you okay?” 

Evan’s eyes snap up and there’s  _ Zoe Murphy _ . She’s frowning down at him with her hair tied up in a near perfect ballet bun and is offering a hand to him. 

“I- I’m just—” Evan takes her hand and lets her help him up. 

“Did something happen with my brother?” she asks, slipping a bag off her shoulder. “I just saw him storm out of here and— he can be awful. It’s probably best just to ignore him when he’s in a mood.” 

“Oh.” 

“Evan, right?” Zoe asks. “Jared mentioned you. I think I’ve seen you around at school.” 

“Yeah. Evan. It’s Evan.” Evan rocks back on his heels. 

“I’m Zoe.” She shoots him an awkward smile. 

“I know,” he says quickly. “I-I mean I’ve— I went to a jazz band concert? I like jazz— I love jazz. Jazz band, not all jazz but jazz band. That’s so weird, I’m sorry.” Evan can hear Jared laughing at him in his mind. 

Zoe gives him a sort of confused look as she puts away her bags and pulls out a waterbottle and her flats and pointe shoes. “Uh, okay? Are you…going to ballet with Oana?” 

Evan nods. 

“Same. Most of the senior comp kids are in it. The ballet classes are the biggest ones, since they aren’t competitive, they’re just required.” She gestures with her pointe shoes. “Do you know where the studio is?” 

“N-no,” Evan admits, trying not to cringe. 

Zoe smiles at him again and it’s a little like an angel is saving him. “Follow me.”  

 

—«·»—

After Oana’s class — it’s really not that bad, Evan has no idea what Jared’s problem with it is — Evan pulls out a notebook and rips out a piece of paper and scribbles out the beginnings of a letter before he can forget what he wants to say. Whenever Doctor Sherman asks “how did you feel this week?” Evan feels his mind blank, so despite the fact that he trashes most of his letters, they do help him sort of place his emotions throughout the week. 

It doesn’t take too long for Zoe to show up in his words. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friends wanted me to keep those usernames. so i did. 
> 
> i never actually had? a dancer forum thing? so like....were talking some liberties just deal with it please. do it for the memes
> 
> also? we would have rules at the studio. no posting about the dances until after the first comp. dance is intense yo 
> 
> i dont really have any dance stuff this time around? theres some stuff that if you ask about ill add but its not.....super relevant? just hmu if anything is ever confusing and ill get you some links

**Author's Note:**

> bug me on [tumblr](http://heavenansen.tumblr.com) about updating. if i ignore you, bug me on my ask blogs. 
> 
>  
> 
> [cramp rolls (specifically toe cramp rolls bc those are more fun)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cm552edONDM)
> 
>  
> 
> welcome to the club. ive always been bad at tap and i dont know how to write any of these kids. also? all dance teachers are named after teachers ive had in my own life bc im lazy
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> im sorry to anyone here from miraculous ladybug


End file.
